


Side Effect

by Janice_Lester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Wingfic, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-27
Updated: 2011-05-27
Packaged: 2017-11-26 21:58:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/654845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janice_Lester/pseuds/Janice_Lester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam starts growing wings.  The angels don't see the problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Side Effect

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kijikun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kijikun/gifts).



> Written for round four of the Five Acts Meme, for [](http://kijikun.livejournal.com/profile)[**kijikun**](http://kijikun.livejournal.com/) who [wanted 'wings'](http://kijikun.livejournal.com/1189037.html). Do I need to warn for Dean making really crude remarks? No? Alpha'd by [](http://ellethill.livejournal.com/profile)[ellethill](http://ellethill.livejournal.com/).

Sam was really starting to regret believing Gabriel’s assurances that those pesky human sexually transmitted infections couldn’t be carried or passed on by angels, even while they were meat-suited or en-vesselled or whatever they called it. Not that it wasn’t true. Sam had no evidence that it wasn’t true. But, uh, a bit of healthy disbelief, or a smidge less eagerness to dip his toe in the wonderful waters of barebacking, would have served him well. Because he’d had a lot of sex with Gabe. All kinds of sex, oral and hand-jobs and, oh, God, that first fantastic frot up against a motel room wall which had barely survived the experience. But it was only after he’d let the archangel fuck him, sans condom, that Sam had begun to feel this weird itching sensation on either side of his back, just below his shoulder-blades.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” Gabriel had said, when Sam complained, his fingers unerringly finding and tickling the spots in question. “You’re just growing wings. There’s bound to be some discomfort.”

“Oh, okay.” Sam yawned. Gabriel touching him gently, especially after sex, always had a distinctly soporific effect. “Wait, WHAT THE HELL?”

“Shh,” Gabriel had soothed. “I’m sure they’ll be beautiful.”

 _Maybe it’ll all turn out to have been a dream,_ Sam decided, and nodded off.

***

“Dude, what is wrong with your back?”

Sam finished pulling on his t-shirt in a hurry. “Nothing. Why?”

“Well, I didn’t have my telescope out, but from here it kinda looked like YOU’RE GROWING FEATHERS.”

“Oh,” Sam muttered helplessly. “That.”

“This is gonna be one of those things I’m gonna regret forcing out of you, isn’t it?”

“Probably. But you’re still going to try it, aren’t you?”

“I gotta take care of my kid brother. Now, has little Sammy been off cavorting with our friendly neighbourhood Trickster again?”

“Did somebody call?”

They both jumped and swore and went for weapons.

Gabriel stood by the end of Dean’s bed, looking, as so often, smugly amused.

“Guess the rib sigils are for shit, then,” Dean complained.

Gabriel waved a hand. “Oh, don’t you worry your pretty little empty head about that. Sam called me earlier, and I was still in the neighbourhood. Standing right outside that window having an invisible post-coital smoke, actually.”

Dean winced and threw up the hand not holding his gun. “More than I wanted to know, there, champ. Just explain about the feathers, will you? Are you making my brother turn into a chicken or something? Or Big Bird?”

Gabriel laughed. “That _would_ be a hoot. Or, well, a cluck. But no. He’s just growing wings. It’s a rare side effect of having your world rocked by an archangel. You should be very proud, Sam. Precious few have ever experienced the manifold delights of my exalted—”

“Gabe?” Sam interrupted gently. “You’re not helping. Please help now.”

Gabriel frowned. “You don’t need any help. Simply leave them alone and they’ll grow in just fine. You’ll be flapping about in no time!”

“Sammy doesn’t want wings, _Gabe._ ”

Gabriel looked immediately hurt. Sam spared Dean a glare before rushing to mollify. “He means, _what if Sam doesn’t think now’s the right time to be trying out the nice wings?_ Is there a way to remove them?”

Gabriel left knee seemed to give out under him, and he lurched and almost fell. He looked pale, faint. Completely un-angelic. “Re—” he stuttered “—remove? Remove angel wings? I don’t think—” He raised a hand to his mouth, very obviously gagging. “I don’t think I can—” And just like that he was gone.

“Well, _that_ was very informative,” Dean said. “Who needs the Discovery channel?”

“You upset him.”

“And _you_ ,” Dean began, rounding on him. “What, did you forget that whole big safe sex lecture I gave you when you were twelve? No Glove, No Love, man. And now you have angel clap. Clearly there was lovin’ without the glovin’. What gives?”

Sam shrugged. “Angels can’t give you STIs. That’s what he said. Seems he just meant _human_ STIs.”

“Jesus Christ, Sam, if it turns out you’re pregnant—” And suddenly Dean, too, looked like he needed to faint and/or throw up.

Sam predicted this was not likely to be a fun week.

***

The wings grew fast, and soon became problematic to fit under his shirts. Also, they stopped itching and started being sensitive in, uh, a completely different way. Something brushing lightly against them felt… like being stroked somewhere pretty intimate. And complaining about it tended to cause people to touch them just to piss him off (Dean) or shut him up in favour of sex (Gabe). And then there was Castiel, who just _stared_ a lot. You know, more than usual. At Sam’s back. As if he could see the little wing-buds there through however many layers of clothes.

There was, of course, precisely zero lore on humans getting infected by angel spunk and growing wings. Sam had known there wouldn’t be, but Dean had made him call Bobby to ask, anyway (“if you don’t do it, Sammy, by God I will, and it’ll be fifty times worse for you”). That was very definitely not a conversation to remember. He was only glad that it hadn’t been a face-to-face conversation. He really did not need to know what shade the angry, disappointed, spluttering Bobby had turned by the time he hung up.

“You’d better watch out,” he’d told Dean afterwards in a fit of perfectly understandable pique. “It may turn out that condoms offer no protection against angel-wing-juice anyways.”

Dean had just lain there, on his motel bed, head supported on his linked hands, legs crossed jauntily at the ankle, and smirked, that really punch-worthy smirk he did so well. “Fortunately, Cas does the bending over in our relationship, if you catch my drift.”

Sam flipped him the bird and absolutely, positively, refused to feel slighted. He possibly might have blushed some, though.

***

Sam was laid up for three days while the main bones of his wings came through. It was awkward and painful and he mainly just paced, trying to ignore what was happening, trying to relax and deal. Dean kept offering him an unwise selection of alcoholic beverages and strong painkillers he probably shouldn’t have access to, but Sam indulged only sparingly in order to get some sleep.

The third night was the worst, until Gabriel arrived in person, having apparently visited Dean in a dream first to get the address. He took one look at Sam, sitting on his bed with a stress ball in each hand to keep his fingers occupied so he wouldn’t scratch, wings with a span of more than a yard drooping to either side, and abruptly turned into the kindest, gentlest, most soothing Trickster ever. In shiny red boxer shorts. He motioned Sam to move forward so he could sit behind him on the pillows, and then he began a slow massage of Sam’s shoulders, careful to avoid the points below where the wings actually emerged. And when Sam had relaxed a little, he moved on to stroking and caressing the still-patchy but increasingly luxuriant mottled white feathers. Sam groaned and wriggled, feeling the oddest urge to purr.

“That’s better, isn’t it? Good boy. Just relax, that’s right.”

“Hard to relax when I’m getting, well, hard here, Gabe.”

“Think Dean’s into voyeurism? I bet he is, the adorable little slime ball.”

Sam coughed and checked guiltily that Dean, in the next bed, was still fast asleep. “Well, so much for that problem.” His erection had run screaming from the mere suggestion that Dean might see it at work. “So, uh, Gabriel?”

“Yes, my love?”

“Do you have to call me that?”

“I’ll stop when you stop hating it. Now, what was your question, my pet?”

Sam sighed. “Just how big are these things gonna get?”

“Ooh, hard to say. Pretty big. They’re designed to support your weight in flight, after all. And human bodies are very heavy. Perhaps a twenty-foot span? Maybe thirty, you’re tall, after all. Should be _very_ impressive.”

Sam waited several moments for the punchline, but one didn’t seem to be forthcoming. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly. Why, now, don’t be greedy, Sam. You don’t _need_ to have the biggest ones around! I can assure you that you’re _very_ frightening just as you are.”

“I think you’re missing the point. I can’t even fit _these_ wings into my clothes. Where will I put thirty feet of wingspan? I won’t even fit in the Impala! And, fuck, I’m going to have to sleep on my stomach for the rest of my life, aren’t I?”

“Oh,” Gabriel said.

Sam blinked. “Oh? _Oh?_ ”

“Can it, lovebirds,” came Dean’s sleepy-grouchy voice, “I’m trying to sleep. Don’t need to hear you moaning and groaning.”

“Go back to sleep,” Gabriel ordered, in _that_ tone that said there was Grace behind it. “We aren’t having sex.”

Dean’s voice was suddenly childish, sweetly eager to please. “Okay. Sorry. Goodnight.” And just like that he was snoring again.

“You scare me sometimes, Gabe.”

“Well, I _am_ an archangel. Now, where were we?” He pulled, ever so gently, on a feather, and for a delicious instant Sam couldn’t remember a damn thing they’d been discussing. “Oh, right. You appear to be labouring under a misapprehension regarding your wings. They aren’t going to cause you problems because they won’t be there all the time.”

“They’re not permanent?”

“Of course they’re permanent! Wings aren’t like antlers, Sammy. But, once you have proper control, you’ll be able to put them away when you’re not using them. You know, like Cas and I do.”

“Put them away where, exactly? In another dimension or something?”

“I don’t suppose that degree you didn’t finish was in mathematics?”

“No, I was pre-law.”

As expected, that put Gabriel straight into condescending mode. “Well, in that case, let’s just say you’ll be able to fold them away into a pocket dimension, and retrieve them at will. You’ll probably want to take off some clothing before you try the retrieval, though, or you’re going to be ripping a lot of seams.”

“So, how exactly—”

“I’ll teach you. But not tonight.” He moved, somehow managing not to crush the wing on that side as he craned forward to kiss Sam’s cheek. “Why don’t you get comfortable, and I’ll knock you into dreamland with my magic ET fingers?”

The suggestion of sleep made Sam yawn. “You promise not to molest me in my sleep?”

“Sure thing, kid. If I felt the urge, I’d absolutely wake you up so you could molest me back.”

Sam was too tired to point out how creepy that sounded, so he just lay down on his belly, allowed Gabriel to help tuck his wings into a more compact arrangement. Then there were fingertips pressed to his forehead, and then nothing.

***

Learning to fly was a piece of cake. It was as if all those dreams of flying he used to get as a kid, where he soared over the schoolyard or circled the tops of skyscrapers, were the result of instincts, memories of flying buried deep in his genes or reaching him from some unknown past lives. Because flapping his wings and flying was familiar as well as easy. Deja vu and everything. He laughed and swooped and really hoped Gabriel had done what he said he’d do and shielded SuperSam from view of any passing people down below, because otherwise he was easily making enough of a spectacle to land himself on the six o’clock news. It was a pity Gabe couldn’t come flying with him, but there was that whole matter of his wings being part of his True Form and his True Form being likely to burn out mere mortals’ eyes.

Learning to magic his wings away was much much _much_ more difficult. And frustrating. And annoying. And irritating. And—

“Dude, you look constipated,” Dean said, pulling a face he no doubt thought was a hilarious parody of Sam’s expression. “Shall I go buy some prune juice or something?”

“I. Am. Concentrating,” Sam said, through gritted teeth.

Gabriel clucked his tongue. “But you shouldn’t _have_ to concentrate. You should just—do it.”

“Do, or do not,” Dean chimed in, in his best Yoda imitation, “there is no try.”

“Screw you both,” Sam complained, and stormed off.

Well, he _tried_ to storm off, only his wings got stuck in the doorway because he hadn’t taken the time to fold them up painfully small.

The impact _hurt_ , the kind of hurt too big to permit a guy the necessary breath for swearing.

“Perhaps if we reviewed the math—” Gabe began, and Sam felt compelled to bang his head against the doorframe for good measure. “Okay, forget I spoke. Let’s just sit around twiddling our conveniently opposable thumbs, shall we? That’s just _bound_ to help.”

“Perhaps Cas could explain it better?” Dean suggested. Sam was pretty sure he did it just to piss off Gabriel, but, whatever, he’d said the name and presently came the flutter of wings.

“Hello, Dean. Sam. Brother. What seems to be the—oh.” Yep, staring. Joy.

“I know,” sighed Gabriel. “Beautiful, aren’t they?”

It was, Sam found, extremely disconcerting to be objectified for a piece of anatomy your species wasn’t supposed to _have_. He untangled himself from the doorway with an effort, and turned back into the room. “Hi, Cas. Any tips for putting these things away?” His feathers rustled in their impatience to be moved somewhere they’d be safe from evil doorframes.

Castiel looked at Gabriel. “Did you explain about the mathematical underpinnings of—”

“Of course. It’s like explaining iambic pentameter to flatworms. I think he understood about six words.”

Cas frowned, and they both stood there peering at Sam like he was some distressingly information-proof schoolboy. “When your wings first began to grow, where did it feel as if they were coming from?”

Sam ran a hand through his hair and tried to remember anything from that period besides the pain. “Um, from inside me? Like my spine had grown these extra bits and was pushing them out through my back?”

“That’s odd,” Gabe said. “No wonder he complained so much! I thought he was just being a big baby! Again.”

“Perhaps if you were to flex your spine, then, and visualise the wings withdrawing smoothly into it, that would open the necessary micro-portal?”

So Sam stood there, unconvinced but obedient, stretched his arms up towards the ceiling, made his back curl, and pictured his wings sliding smoothly out of sight inside him. And gasped as he felt them _twitch_ in an attempt to do just that.

“Nice one, little bro,” Gabriel said, slapping Castiel’s shoulder. “You’re really learning how to talk to these clowns.”

“Sam and Dean are not professional comic entertainers, Gabriel.”

There was an odd pause while everyone tried to work out whether Castiel had just told a joke or completely missed the point. But, not for the first time, it proved impossible to tell, so Sam just shrugged and had another go at making his wings retract.

And they _did_ retract, so suddenly that he overbalanced as his centre of gravity shifted and he fell face-first for the floor.

Gabriel was instantly there to catch him.

***

A week later, Sam had more or less got the hang of it, and was starting to see that having wings on call might actually be useful. For one thing, if some angel ever came to smite him, Sam could just produce his wings and there was every chance angel-assassin would be so busy admiring the pretty that Sam would be able to engineer his escape. But his current angelic company was definitely _not_ here to smite him.

“Go on, get your wings out,” Gabriel said, waggling his eyebrows. “Go _on_ , Sammy-boy. You know you want to.”

So Sam took off his jacket and shirt, concentrated a moment, leaned forward against the soon-to-be extra weight, and let his wings slide back into this reality.

“Oh, baby,” Gabriel sighed, stepping closer. “They truly are _magnificent_. Wrap them around me?”

So Sam pulled Gabe in close with arms and wings, kissed him and enfolded and embraced him. And Gabe sighed in pleasure and stroked at his feathers with gentle, knowing fingers, sending delicious chills up Sam’s spine and tempting him to pounce.

“Let me blow you?” Gabe murmured abruptly.

Sam blinked. Well, _his_ attitude had sure changed. “Okay. Should I keep the wings out?”

“Oh, please, yes.”

“You’re in love with my wings, aren’t you?” Sam joked.

There was an awkward silence.

“So, about that blowjob?”

 

***END***


End file.
